Breath
by Etern
Summary: I can't breathe. I am happy this way. The air smells like death after all.


Breath

By: Etern

Disclaimer: It all belongs to JK Rowling, so...yes.

A/N: This is what happens when i get bored. This completely random story that I just started typing until it ended. Huh. It's actually pretty good, but since I had no clear pairing in my mind it's Harry and...whoever you want, boy or girl. So yes, completely random, completely sappy, completely...uh...ficcish? Eh, well enjoy.

--

I can't breathe. And you know what? I'm not sure if I even want to. I would rather suffocate here, in your arms, then go face what I know is my destiny. I would rather stay here, wrapped in your fragrance, your warmth, then face the coldness of uncertainly, smell the scent of death.

Beyond you, love, it clings to everything.

"You don't have to do this," you whisper into my hair. Your breath is hot against my skin, yet it sends shivers down my spine. "You can just walk away. Go back into hiding."

Do you think I haven't thought about that? In my mind I have played that exact scene over and over and over again in my head for too long. It can never be. I can not torture myself with a lie, with some twisted hope that we both know can never be true. So why do I say it? Why are you mentioning it?

Maybe it's because we both need that hope, however twisted. Maybe for a moment we both need to visualize what might have been, if I were anyone else. Maybe, just maybe, I can almost believe it for a second.

Your sobs against my throat, although quiet, are enough to blame reality back. Would it make you feel terrible if I were to tell you I hate you right now for that? Would you feel bad if I told you that I resented your tears, your sobs? They just make things much worse.

But you can not help it, so I say nothing. In fact, I hold you closer until I can feel your tears on my neck. They brand me as badly as the jagged scar that had started this mess on my forehead.

"I'll be okay," I try to lie, just for you. Your tears slide down my shirt, soaking it. "Please, I'll be okay for you."

Do you even realize how much of an impact you have made on my life? For years you have pushed me forward, even back when you were my enemy. For years you have made me feel like someone besides the boy-who-lived, made me think of myself as someone who is…normal. In this world of magic and power, you have made me feel normal and I love you, I love you, I love you for that. How many times can I say that in my head, but not aloud to you?

I love you.

So easy in my head, a simple three words backed with all the honesty I can hold. I love you. Can't you see?

Sometimes I think you do, when you look at me. Sometimes I think you do by the way you kiss me so fiercely and whisper to me that I am yours and you are mine. Sometimes I almost think that you love me too.

I have held on to you for too long; you had nearly had me forgetting who I really was. You make me feel normal but we both know now in this that I am not. I never have been. I never will be.

What is beyond those doors is what my whole life has led to. What is beyond those doors I can no longer run from. It is time; I know, you know, he knows. The clock is ticking and your lips brush the skin of my neck as you speak.

"You can't guarantee that you'll be okay," you whisper, "You can't guarantee me anything once you step through those doors."

I can not rebuke your words; I stay silent.

I can not guarantee you anything other than the simple fact that I will love you forever, even after I step through those doors. I will always love you.

But do I have the courage to tell you that?

No. I have used up all my courage and am left with just duty, just a weary understanding. What I am not about to do is not an act of bravery, as everyone thinks; it is something that has to be done. I don't think you, especially, understand that anymore.

"Please…" you plead again, and I have no idea what you are pleading for. What do you want me to say?

You look up at me slowly through teary eyes, and my heart freezes. I know what you want me to say. I always really knew. Your eyes shine at me, plead with me to just say it say it say it.

I am still not breathing.

"Please…" you utter again, and it is nearly my undoing. It's on the tip of my tongue; it's in the hidden corners of your eyes. Right there, but held back, held down. If I say it now and then go die, will you regret me telling you? Will you regret anything? Everything?

"If I die," I can only promise you, "I will die with your name on my lips."

Was it enough? Your sobs against my throat pause, harshly, and I frantically wonder, clutching you infinitely tighter. There is no space left between our bodies now.

"What do you mean by that?" I hear you whisper, and your voice sends a pang to the deepest part of my soul, a part that I did not know existed before now. I can barely understand you. I always understand you.

"Mean what?"

You go to shift away; I can not let you go. It's always been the opposite, hasn't it love? You always cling to me, not the other way around. You always need me. Now I'll always need you.

But that need might end in a flash of green in a time so near to now.

But for now, I can only listen to your words and try to give you all that you want.

"Why do you want to die with my name on your lips?" you whisper, and your body is heaving, my resolve is crumbling. Oh god, if there ever has been one, I want there only to be you. I know what you want from me, and with your tears drying and burning into my neck I fear I can no longer deny it.

"Please," you utter that dreaded word again, and too many things flood my soul. You have always made me drown. I can never come back up.

"Oh god…" And I let you in, just as I always have on so many levels. I let you into my bed, my heart, my soul… And I'm doing it all over again now.

Our hearts race together as I frame your face in my hands, studying every feature. Your eyes are so bright and lovely with unshed tears; they reflect in my own. My fear is your fear, my heart is your heart. I make you understand that at least as I take your lips in mine, as I try to draw out your soul into my body so that we can always be together, so that this can never end.

Your mouth is so familiar and yet so erotic; your taste is so calming yet so exhilarating. And I think, this can not be the end. And I think, there has to be much more.

With you there's always more.

The clock strikes; the sound of a blade falling, the guillotine. We are gasping for breath, gasping for life. Your tears spread from your face to mine no matter how much I try to stop it.

I place my forehead against yours, just stare into your eyes. The time is here; is this goodbye?

"It can't end like this," you whisper against my lips, "It just can't. It isn't fair."

"Nothing's fair," my answer is brittle. "In love and war."

I have to let you go. You have to let me go. This is the worst of it, I think, looking into your eyes once again. This is the worst of it, until you reach back up, until you cradle my face in your cold hands and make me look you in the eye, in the soul, in the heart.

"I love you," you whisper, "I'll always love you, no matter what. Whether you live or die."

It is the worst as it can get as I sob into your mouth, pressed so tightly in a wet, final kiss to mine. Our tears mingle together; my heart mends and shreds again and again with your words. No, don't love me, I want to tell you. Don't love me, so you won't miss me. Don't love me, because even in death I never want to hurt you.

Don't love me…

One last feeling of your breath against my neck, my cheek, your warmth against my side, my soul and then you are gone, whisked away. Or am I the one whisked away?

I gave you no promises and yet your words bind me to you, your love. It is worse than a promise. A few steps in and I see my demise, the point of it all, and he is leering at me, waiting.

It is your face I picture as I step into the room, and when the door closes, locking me away from you, I can breathe again.

The air eats my heart away.

--

Depressing end, sorry. But really you should know he lives. He has nine lives, I swear.


End file.
